


from midnight to 4 a.m.

by koroshiyas (lucitae)



Category: Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Angst, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Second person POV, lapslock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-01-22 07:25:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12476388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucitae/pseuds/koroshiyas
Summary: the darker the night gets, the more pretentious are the words written.alternatively, thoughts barely strung together trying to pass as a collection of drabbles.





	1. tangents

**Author's Note:**

> chapters to be added as i go. read the tags before you proceed.
> 
> this can also be considered as a series of writing exercises or the ramblings of a mind too awake to fall asleep.
> 
> the title was taken from [this quote](https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/3248594-from-midnight-to-4-00-am-is-the-loneliest-time). but it can also be quite literal.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which their lives are only a tangent.

 

>  ☀:  _a boy who likes boys is a dead boy_

 

☾

 

you understand. and if you were younger — much, much younger — maybe you would have forgiven him and invited him into your bed.

but you're not.

you're too tired to waste time on someone who won't come around and understand that a boy who likes boys doesn't have to be dead one.  
after all, blood still sings under your fingertips.

 

you walk away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the first line was taken from richard siken's _a primer for the small weird loves_. personally, i believe that everyone should buy a copy of _crush_ and _war of the foxes_ , but if you can't and wish to read & appreciate poetry, click [here](http://anotherhand.livejournal.com/40250.html) to read.
> 
> this is me, taking a joke too far.  
> maybe these drabbles won't be so angsty if ong dropped his hetero agenda.


	2. barley, hops, and yeast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bad decisions are often made with too few shots to justify them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by the [new wanna one teaser pics](https://twitter.com/worldwidehndsm_/status/922678549559021568) where onghwang seems to match. yes, i am desperate enough to grasp at straws. ( aren't we all ? )

 

☀

 

you're drunk.

drunk enough to grab him by his collar and pull him against you. drunk enough for your lips to meet his in a way that the million voices inside your head starts to scream the reasons why you shouldn't.

for once, your voice is louder than theirs.

 

☾

 

you're tipsy;

a lightheadedness settling over, reminding you how you are losing control like the bubbles rising to the surface of the glass between your fingers — losing control and giving into the way his greed carves its place into you, desperate.

when he says your name, it's almost in reverence.

 

you're tipsy:

but you aren't drunk enough to forget how, when the foam dies, he won't admit that he loves you back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first posted on [here](https://twitter.com/dulcetfairytale/status/922685606395707392); slightly edited since.


	3. star dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> our love may not be infinite, but you are.

 

☀

 

he knows a man who holds a galaxy in his eyes.

how can you compare?

 

☾

 

you know a man who holds entire galaxies within his eyes: an infinite amount of concentrated star dust, burning with the intensity of a thousand suns, tinged with a kind of sorrow one can only get from holding the weight of countless star systems for all eternity.

in his eyes, you are but a speck of dust.

 

the man in front of you looks at you as if you are the only thing that matters.

the milky way isn't reflected in his eyes. no litany of luminescence forming a stream, no vortex of stellar remnants, no spiral formed from a gravitational collapse.

just you.

how can anyone compare?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope, by now, you've figured out what the symbols stand for.
> 
> inspired by [this moment](https://twitter.com/track95__/status/922752216074559489) and [this one](https://twitter.com/track95__/status/914320000701259777). and the countless of descriptors of jonghyun's eyes floating around on twitter.


	4. the life where you exist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> how far would you go for that thing named love?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings: graphic depictions of violent deaths.

there's a crunch of metal, of bone, of glass. one or all of them shatter. time slows as if suspended in honey.

broken glass reflect the red of the lights at the intersection. smoke in your periphery; the same with limbs crushed under the weight of other objects, all belonging to different people. a soft hissing, a chorus of moans. something wet making its way down the side of your face but none of it really matters.

there are a pair of eyes staring at the starless sky — blank. a dark pool seeping out, curling the hair at the back of his head, almost matching the asphalt.

you inch forward with your elbows, ignoring the pain, trying to swallow back the panic that rises from dragging your legs.

 

the blood is warm but rapidly cooling as you cradle his head between your hands.

 

you cry for help:  
again and again.

 

                               the sirens don't sound.

 

                                                                        not until much, much later.

 

 

☀

 

 

his fingernails have turned white from gripping the edge of the sink for too long, doubled over, throwing up his innards.

when he turns around, slowly as if each degree in the swivel of the head caused an increasing amount of effort, you see crimson marring perfect skin, painting this into a scene of a horror movie.

 

you forget that the price of being loved by many, include being loved by those who will take it to the extreme.

 

 

☀

 

 

you wake with a start. your heart still pounding in your chest, sweat matting your bangs to your forehead, cheeks damp, and fingers gripping at sheets to reaffirm that this is the reality.

 _those were nightmares_ becomes a mantra.

it brings you no peace.

 

 

☀

 

 

he's standing in the kitchen, greeting you with a smile, but all you can see are glassy eyes and blackened lips.

the contents of dinner threaten to leave your system; you flee.

 

 

☀

 

 

there's a hand on your back, attempting to soothe.

there's nothing more to heave.

tears begin to fill the toilet bowl in its stead.

 

 

☀

 

 

the aircraft bounces. overhead speakers announce turbulence but all of it remains unheard. his elbow is pressed against yours, sharing space on the narrow arm rest, eyebrows furrowed in a way that doesn't detract from his handsomeness.

the world mutes itself when his hand covers yours, holding it in a tight grip when the plane jolts ( and everyone with it ). the carts clatter. flight attendants regain their balance by gripping onto the nearest object. not that you notice any of it. the world — _your_ world — is the size of a hand.

the reverie shatters when there's a stronger stream of a very disrupted flight pattern. the lights flash for an instance enveloping the passengers in darkness and the faint glow of emergency lights. they switch back on. the masks swing free from their compartments, dangling as an omen.

another crackle from the speakers.

his hands leave yours, gripping at the head of the seat in front of him.

_brace. brace. brace._

 

 

☀

 

 

you wake up, suffocating, clawing at your chest and gasping for air as your mind still believes it is being submerged in icy waters.

( you had tried to give him all the air left in your lungs. and in some ways it was worth it. )

 

 

☀

 

 

the airport is filled with the cacophony of shutters closing at a rapid pace, crowding in from your periphery as the band gets checked in. you know it'll continue until boarding.

but today, it gets on your nerves.

a dream may only be a dream but when you close your eyes there is blood pooling from his orifices.

 

jealousy had corrupted love and turned humans into monsters;  
fame has turned you into an object for possession.

 

perhaps that fear alone prompted you to look over his shoulder. his seat is a letter different from yours.

 

deft fingers manage to extricate guanlin's ticket from his grasp. you place yours in his hands.

guanlin's brows furrow. "hyung... why—"he begins.

"didn't you like window seats?" is your reply and you flee before he has the chance to answer.

 

your knuckles turn white from gripping the armrest the entire flight. each minor bump sends your heart plummeting to the ground.

 

 

☀

 

 

your hand accidentally brushes against his.

the first dream revisits. except it's not a van and your hands are on the wheel.

 

( his hand is the last thing you feel against your thigh.

 the stars can't be seen in a city with congested veins,

 his eyes stare at something your voice cannot reach. )

 

 

☀

 

 

there is no such thing as a good dream anymore.

not dreaming at all is the only way to find a night of peace.

 

 

☀

 

 

you jolt when he materializes behind you.

if possible, you keep everything to a minimum. after all, you only have to keep this up for another year.

 

 

☀

 

 

when his face falls, you tell yourself it is better this way.

you would rather see his eyes sparkle, cheeks flush, and eyes disappearing behind crescent moons  
                                                                                                                                                         than see them glassy, pale, and wide open.

 

 

☀ two moons ago ☀

 

 

he laughs bright and clear as you press your lips against his cheeks in a succession of quick kisses, keeping up with the frantic pace of your heart. for the last one, you linger a little longer, leaving with a loud smack for extra measure. laughter erupts around you and you beam at the rest of your band, proud for keeping a promise.

 

that night marks the beginning of the dreams.

 

 

☀ many, many moons earlier ☀

 

 

the applause that erupts from the crowd is deafening. the congratulations are almost lost in the roar despite being shouted into your ear. you could die now and leave no regrets behind.

when he meets you halfway, your chest expands to the point it threatens to collapse. you pull him closer, hoping to shrink it down to size.

it doesn't; it remains enlarged.  
eventually, you'll learn its permanence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there are many reasons why seongwoo could be avoiding minhyun. i chose to go with the least plausible one.
> 
> please cry with me over [old moments](https://youtu.be/XUEPtz4IOgM?t=185) and pretend this ship isn't buried ten feet under the ground.


	5. liquid courage

"I think about him and end up thinking about _us_ : how far we've come, how much we changed, how is it even possible for there to have been a _before_.

And then I see him: walking towards me with the brightest smile on the face, waving enthusiastically as if there was a possibility I would have missed him — even in a crowd, as if he won the lottery but he hasn't. If he did it would be a different story.

Or would it?

In those moments, those brief and short moments before he reaches me, I recall how yesterday he placed his feet up on the table despite how I tell him not to on a daily basis. How it took twenty times for him to remember to rinse the dishes or at least fill them with water so it's easier to scrub when I do them. How he forgets his jacket even when I drape it over his chair when he joins me for breakfast and I have to retrieve it before we say our goodbyes. How he has this habit of calling at the most inconvenient of times. Or how he has somehow become my sister's favorite confidante and she remembers to buy him a gift and forget about mine. Because we live together, the nerve of her.

And yet he somehow seems to know when I'm having a bad day. When the printer has broken down after page twenty seven of my forty page report. When the poor intern was in too much of a hurry to rush to the meeting room and spilled the coffee over my shirt before the presentation. When the boss pulls me aside and tells me in the most polite and gentle way possible that he knows I can do better. And on those days, he's already ordered from my favorite takeout place with my comfort food. It should've already been cold but he puts it in the oven for a quick reheat the moment he hears me fumbling with the doors. Let's me eat on the couch, not caring if his arm gets numb under my weight, and cleans up without a fuss, quietly reminding me that tomorrow is a new day — that tomorrow will be better than whatever transgressed today.

I miss him," Minhyun says, finger collecting the drops of condensation against the glass, building them up until they slide down and ink the paper beneath. The last sip of the orange of the drink has faded from the dilution of ice cubes.

"Who knew all it took for you to be honest was a single drink?" Minki comments as he takes a sip from his own. "No wonder no one invites you out. Trying to make them jealous?"

"I miss him," Minhyun echoes. It's followed by a sigh that softens the look in Minki's eyes.

"It's been what?" Minki starts and counts, ticking off each finger for a day, "a week?"

Minhyun's gaze remains distant as Minki heaves a sigh of his own. "Besides, he's coming back tomorrow." Minki knocks his glass back, setting it on the table with a loud _thunk_ as he says: "I haven't seen Aron for three months, and no, Skype calls do not count."

But Minhyun is no longer listening. He's looking past Minki, sitting up, towards the entrance of the bar with an expression that prompts Minki to turn and follow Minhyun's line of sight.

"You're here early," Minki notes carefully, eyeing the suitcase being towed.

There is a sheepish smile presented on his face before Seongwoo explains: "the meeting ended earlier than expected and I didn't want to waste company resources on a hotel room for an unnecessary night."

Minki is tempted to point out that the flight itself might have wasted company resources but refrains, settling for a knowing smile instead as Seongwoo seats himself on Minhyun's other side.

"What did I miss?"

"Just honest hours with Hwang Minhyun," Minki says with a flippant wave of his hand, "and how much he missed you."

Seongwoo turns towards Minhyun who becomes reabsorbed with the glass before him where the only remnants of condensation lies towards the bottom, ice nonexistent. Minhyun's tone is impassive when he says: "not more than the usual." Which elicits a snicker from Minki and a triumphant smile from Seongwoo.

Seongwoo reaches behind Minhyun's back, a hand next to his lips as he whispers to Minki: "did you record it?"

Minki rolls his eyes. "Do you even know me?"

"I can still hear both of you," Minhyun warns.

It gets ignored. "Can I get another drink for this fine young lad sitting over here?" Seongwoo asks the bartender as he gestures at Minki.

When it gets placed in front of Minki, he raises it in Seongwoo's direction, phone in the other hand. A notification of a recording pops up not long after.

Minhyun chooses to lean in then, lips ghosting against the shell of Seongwoo's ear and voice in a tone that reminds Seongwoo why he had to come home earlier. "I'll tell you what I said and more if you take me home right now."


	6. mixing spirits & ivory keys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by the [mama performance](https://twitter.com/mh_n_0809_/status/935843025950973953) and my kouhai who seared the idea into my soul.

“The usual?” Seongwoo asks with a smile as he continues to wipe the rim of the glass, giving it a quick inspection before setting it aside.

She tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear before sliding into the seat before him, lips a pretty shade of red that matches her nails ( three small crystals decorating the edge before the simple single colored coat, alternating with a single white flower against a black backdrop — Seongwoo reminds himself to make a note of it later ). “Unless you have something new to recommend,” she answers easily, resting a chin on the back of her hand and Seongwoo chuckles in response.

“I do have a new concoction,” he allows, smile coy as he reveals his new recipe.

“Sounds risky,” she retorts, all teeth, but a smile plays at her lips.

“On the house if you don’t find it to your liking.” Seongwoo leans closer as if divulging a trade secret. “I’ll be able to tell if you do," he adds with a wink.

She rolls her eyes but the smile on her face is undeniable.

Seongwoo selects his spirits without a glance, muscle memory guiding him as he recreates his drink from memory. A few years into his career, someone had told him ( fluttering eyelashes, flushed cheeks, perfume permeating into the space behind the counter ) that watching him craft a cocktail was like watching a dance. Reckless in how he didn't care if it was wasted with liquid spilling as he twirled the bottles — easy smiles and an easily charmed crowd. But it wasn't anything special. Attention is fleeting and interest is superficial.

His loyal customers, on the other hand, hold enough respect to watch him until the end. She smiles, eyes watching the way the blue tinted fluid flows into the glass, the way his fingers deftly decorate the drink with a cherry and a ring of salt.

( There is always one, however, who holds genuine respect. )

 

 

 

_“The way you flick your wrists is so pretty.”_

_The bar is quiet. There is only an individual on either side of the counter. The only lights in this space is the one that gives Seongwoo an inkling of where his tools are placed. The other individual's eyes seem to twinkle and Seongwoo prays the low lighting doesn’t give away the pink that has crawled into his cheeks._

_“I don’t think I will ever get tired of this.”_

_The glance can only be categorized as fond as Seongwoo tries to avoid eye contact, sliding the glass towards the other in response._

_A sip. An appreciative smile. A “only you can compel me to take a sip.”_

 

 

 

Seongwoo slides the drink towards the client, flashing another smile as she nods in gratitude. She takes a sip. Another nod with a reluctant “not bad” as Seongwoo’s smile turns into a beam.

“I told you,” Seongwoo can’t help but state.

She laughs, hair spilling over a shoulder as she swivels around away from him. “Put it on my tab. I expect another surprise next time.”

“Duly noted,” Seongwoo replies as he busies himself with another order, eyes following her line of sight.

The pianist wears a suit of white, matching the piano. Under the soft glow, pale fingers dance upon ivory keys. An attractive man but the captivation is due to the emotions emulated, translated into music, poured into the song that escapes his lips. A love song tonight. A cover.

A sigh escapes the woman's lips and Seongwoo can’t fault her because he had done the same when he first heard the man play.

It ends. Without a pause it transitions into a self composition. The chatter that occupied the bar seems to die down a little, choosing to take sips as the man seated before the piano takes them on a journey.

Seongwoo slides the whiskey sour and the platter of shots towards the waiting man before focusing on the man in white, tempted to close his eyes to better appreciate like the woman before him.

“Something new?” she asks, eyes still closed.

“I think so.”

“I wonder what inspired this composition,” the woman comments, drunk on the melody.

 

 

 

“New piece?” Seongwoo starts conversationally as he tugs the apron free from his waist. The male beside him stills, fingers looped into the knot of his tie. “I wonder what inspired it.”

“Who knows?” there’s a lilt in his tone, cryptic as he answers.

 

 

 

The moon overhead is hiding behind clouds. Streets are empty and the lights are the only things illuminating the path ahead. The keys jangle as the bar gets locked up. Seongwoo shifts his weight between his feet, grinning when the pianist joins him.

“Your home is in this direction?” Seongwoo asks as he catches up and falls in step with the other. “What a coincidence.”

“Doesn’t this get old?” Minhyun asks, hint of amusement in his tone.

“You love it,” Seongwoo retorts. Minhyun hums under his breath, noncommittal as he takes a hand out of his pocket — an invitation. Seongwoo slides a hand into the warm space as Minhyun joins him moments later, fingers intertwining as Seongwoo huddles closer.

“I think tonight’s performance is the best rendition of your working composition,” Seongwoo comments, a puff of white escaping his lips, nose turning red.

“Thank you,” Minhyun replies with a soft smile, “pity I didn’t think of recording it.”

“It’ll come back to you. Better next time,” Seongwoo encourages. “Just think of whatever you were thinking of tonight.”

Minhyun stops in his tracks and turns to meet Seongwoo’s eyes. “Still curious?” mentioning the inquiry from the changing room.

Seongwoo nods.

Minhyun leans forward, presses his lips against the corner of Seongwoo’s mouth. “Who else can it be but you?”


End file.
